


Little Match Boy

by bittersweet_skylines



Category: Little Match Boy
Genre: Angst With A Bittersweet Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Era, Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, Little Match Girl AU, Mention of Death, Nameless Characters, the romantic interest could be anyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:17:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweet_skylines/pseuds/bittersweet_skylines
Summary: All Race wanted was for life to be back to the way it was before, but in the moment, all he wants is to be able to stay warm.A Little Match Girl AU | Part 8 of Newsies Winter Wonderland





	Little Match Boy

The wind swirled in bitter gusts throughout lower Manhattan during the fading evening. The sun had long since gone down, leaving the stragglers caught out in the cold to be illuminated by the sparsely spread street lights. It was oddly silent for a late December night. The streets were usually filled with much more people, carolers and carriages. However, the pouring snow and chilling winds drove everyone inside as fast as they could. 

Still, a determined Racetrack Higgins, just barely sixteen years old, wandered the street in just his hat and a torn winter jacket, with twelve more slightly damp newspapers, a box of cigars, and a packet of matchsticks. His hands had long since lost feeling and had he been able to look into a mirror, he was sure his lips had gone blue, but he just had to sell the last of his newspapers. Maybe a few cigars too. He didn’t have enough money to get a bed at the lodging house tonight. He hadn’t been able to afford a room in nearly a week now, and his stubborn pride was keeping anyone from helping him. Some ass decided to steal every damn penny Race had, and he was struggling to get back to where he was before. Had everyone not pitched in to get him twenty papers, he wouldn’t have had any at all to sell. 

Not that he was selling much anyways. His voice had long since given out- probably a result of the mixture of yelling all day and just being so cold. It was so late in the day now that anyone who wanted a paper had already gotten it, so he was left hopelessly waving them around. 

Just four more cents. That was all he needed in order to get a bed for the night, but no one was buying anything. 

He held out his cigars. He never wanted to sell those (they were  _ expensive _ ) but he was desperate for the four cents. 

A man walked by, his lower face buried in his scarf. Race held out the box, walking beside him for a quick moment, just  _ begging  _ him to buy one. However, he was left completely ignored. 

Hopelessly, he shut the box and stashed it away in his pocket. His teeth chattered viciously as he rubbed his hands together. They were ripped of any natural colour- replace with the colour of the snow. Race couldn’t tell for sure in the darkness, but the tips of his fingers had started to go black. 

He hoped they weren’t going black. Race didn’t know if his hands could even recover once they went black. Didn’t someone once tell him that once skin went black, it fell off? Yeah! His Ma did, before she passed away. He woulda been… eight maybe. 

Race gave up after the last couple roaming the streets disappeared behind the door to a pub. The warm gust of air drew Race in, before the door was swung shut abruptly. He closed his eyes tight, holding onto the warmth for as long as he could before he was fully submerged in the dark, icy winds. 

Hesitantly, he clasped his hand around the handle and pulled the door open to the pub. Once inside the entry, he realized how much he stuck out. Everyone seemed to be dressed to the nines compared to Race, who really was just drinking in the warm air. 

His hands had been worse than he thought now that he was looking in proper lighting. One of his nails had been snapped down to his nail bed, dried blood smeared around his light blue fingertips. Slowly, he clasped and unclasped his hands, wincing at the numb, still sensation of nothing. 

Before he knew it, the man at the bar had began to yell at Race- his words not processing, instead blurring into one low rumble of anger. He stared blankly at him as he came forward. A loud ringing joined the mans screaming as he shoved Race outside of the pub, letting him crash into the pile of snow out front. 

Helpless, Race stayed laying in the street, looking up at the sky. There weren’t any stars, instead just flurries of snowflakes falling at slight angle. 

Shaken and defeated, Race stood up and walked down the street until he found an alley sheltered by the wind and snow. 

He cleared an area in a little nook between two brick walls and laid out one of the newspapers across the ground. It wouldn’t do much to insulate him, but it was better than nothing. 

Race curled up in the corner, layering the leftover newspapers around him until he was out of papers. He closed his eyes, wrapping himself up into the tightest ball he could as he breathed hot air on his hands. He couldn’t take the cold. It was starting to become unbearable. 

His hands were shaking like crazy as he reached into his pockets. He took out a cigar, sticking it between his quivering lips as he took one of his last five matches out and struck it once- twice- three- four times before it finally sparked to life. He cupped one hand around the cigar, while his other held the match up to his cigar until it lit. 

He shook the match out, before tossing it in the snow next to him. Race took a deep breath, before he took a long drag out of his cigar. He tapped it off on his knee, before he swallowed thickly. Even the idea of just smoking wasn’t lightening his mood. Then again though, he had no clue if  _ anything  _ could lighten his mood at this point. Maybe a warm bath and a large blanket. A cup of nice tea and a fireplace. God just the ideas of those filled Race with hope and warmth. 

Race smoked his cigar down to the nub, before he put it out in the snow. He resisted the temptation to smoke another one, wanting to save them for tomorrow. Maybe then he could get better luck tomorrow trying to sell them off. 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. Race shifted so that he was sitting up properly, before he took out his matchbox. Four. He had four matches. 

He hesitated briefly, before desperation got the best of him and he struck the match against the box until it lit. Race cradled it close, protecting the flame from the wind and anything that could potentially burnt the match out. 

Suddenly, the cold darkness washed away to reveal a lit fireplace. He grinned, before he stood up and ran to the fire, sighing contently as he stuck his hands just close enough  _ not  _ to burn himself. Slowly, he began to clamp his hands up with ease as the warmth surrounded him. 

However, the warmth was gone before Race could even bask in the heat. The world quickly washed away and he was back in the corner of the building, covered in newspaper. Still, he was yearning to return to the heat. 

He glanced around, his limbs growing stiffer, before he picked up a piece of newspaper. He crumbled it up tightly, before he lit the second match and put it on top of the newspaper. It was slow to light up, but soon enough the flame was big enough that Race was consumed in his own little world once again. 

Someone tapped on his back. Race tore his gaze away from the fire to reveal his lover, bright eyed and alive, his hand held out towards Race. Slowly, he took his hand and was helped up. They locked eyes for a brief moment, before Race wrapped his arms tightly around his waist. His lover whispered sweet nothings in his ear, before he spun Race lightly, slowly bringing him in as he began to lead Race in a slow dance. 

Race rested his head on his shoulder and took in his scent. He didn’t give off the same smell that he used to- that was the only thing he had noted before he noticed the soft music playing from above them. It was a melody he didn’t recognize, but just the soft melody brought him home. 

That was when he asked, looking at Race with the brightest smile he had ever seen him wear. “ _ Do you want to go home _ ?” 

Race’s smile only grew as he hugged him tightly again, but before he could answer, he was laying face first in snow once more. 

He hesitated before he sat up, swallowing thickly. None of it had been real- he knew it wasn’t possible. He was long gone, but Race couldn’t shake the feeling of his arms wrapped around him, swaying in place next to the warm fireplace. 

Desperate, Race crawled across the ground and quickly piled up a few newspapers, before he lit the match and lit up the pile. 

In an instant, he was back standing in front of his love, still waiting patiently for Race’s reply. He nodded quickly. All he wanted to do was go home, to be warm, to have a bed, to be  _ happy _ again. Wordlessly, he took Race’s hand and lead him across the basement, before the two of them made it up the staircase. Race gazed around at the familliar lobby of the lodging house as he lead him outside. 

They stopped just outside the front door, before he leaned in and kissed Race lightly on the lips, lingering just a bit before he pulled away. Race opened his eyes wide, about to object, but all he did was raise a finger to his lip as if to hush Race, before the two of them walked down the street hand in hand, in broad daylight. 

They walked passed a man, and then two more, and then a woman and a child and not a single one of them batted an eyelash at the two of them. That only made Race grin more, nuzzling up close to him because he could do that. He was being as intimate as he good while watching and no one seemed to care. 

They approached a small house stuck between two much larger buildings that Race instantly recognized. He glanced at him, before his lover gave him a small nod. Race let go of his hand, before he ran up the front steps, followed shortly behind by him. Race knocked on the door, before he rubbed his sleeve against the window next to it, removing the frost just so he could barely see the inside of the small living room, so clearly alive with warmth and happiness. 

Just as the door began to creak open, everything faded away once more. Frantically, Race gathered up all the newspapers he could and lit the fourth and final match, cursing himself for wasting his first one so carelessly on liting a damn cigar. 

Lucky for him, he was back in front of the front door before he could even blink and the smile was back on his face. 

Wonder filled his eyes as a tired, but happy woman open the door. Race lost all the breath in his lungs as he stared at her, before he lunged at her and wrapped his arms tightly around her. Just the sight of her broke Race down in tears. His mother was  _ real  _ and  _ alive  _ and in front of him, hushing him softly before she gestured for the two of them to come in. 

She said something, but Race could barely process as he looked around his childhood home, with the beat up couch and the fireplace, and the small kitchen, with the stairs that lead up to the attic where he and… 

Sat around the fire were four figures. Race could recognize them all just by the backs of the heads, but they all looked to him with wide smiles across all their faces. The first one was a young girl, barely four years old who ran up to Race with her little blonde braids flying behind her. Race laughed as he picked her up, embracing her tightly as she babbled wordlessly. She held up a small stuffed animal, before she handed it to Race and got down, making her way back into her corner to gather another stuffed toy. 

Race walked over to the rest of the group, before he stood next to a slightly taller, slightly older brother, who for once was well groomed and not covered in soot and grime from working. He put his hand on Race’s shoulder, patting his back before the two of them watched as twin boys sat on the floor with a hand whittled chess set. It was miraculous that no one had lost all the pieces. 

It had been too long since he had seen any of his family. The only person who was missing from the picture was his father, but he had left shortly after everyone had gone, leaving Race and his older brother alone at eight and fourteen. Then at twelve, it was just Race. Guess his father still hadn’t caught up to them yet. 

Race grinned as he looked back up at his older brother. Race at sixteen and him at eighteen- he never thought it was possible that the two of them would get closer in age. 

Guess the impossible was possible after all. 

He finally got the attention of the twins, who in sync got up and gave him a quick, but tight hug before they both returned to their game. Race laughed and then hands snaked around his waist. He turned his face to the side to kiss his lover’s lips softly, taking in the moment that  _ no one cared  _ that they were doing this. He was home. 

He finally felt like he was home. 

Race seemed unbothered when the flame went out in the pile of newspapers. Instead, he laid in the snow, stiff as a board and unmoving. His jaw had finally stopped chattering, and his hands weren’t numb anymore. He wasn’t aware of the snow piling up around him in a small pile, dusting his face and jacket with fresh snow as the wind blew around the newspapers ash, brushing over him, but also drifting off towards the main street. 

The cold winds seemed to cease around him, and the snow wasn’t cold. It wasn’t wet either. It just existed around him. 

Slowly, his lover nudged him with his foot. Race rolled over, giving him a lazy smile as he picked up the one intact newspaper, before he helped Race up. The door to Race’s house manifested in front of them, and together they walked in, leaving behind the mess of matches and ashes and cigars and a beaten up body, frostbitten to hell and back, still clutching the small, empty matchbox. 


End file.
